I want to dance with you,
in a field of wildflowers,
the dead of night.
I’m no butterfly,
just a moth,
leading you,
to the light.
We spin,
you twirl,
as powder flies,
off my wings.
The moon,
so bright,
she says,
it’s alright.
You jump,
from cloud,
to moonbeam,
and I follow.
You’re beautiful,
and I’m a moth,
dancing with you,
in moonlight.

She used to be,
a fairy,
translucent wings,
dances with bees.
Befriending hummingbirds,
and taking sips,
from morningdew.
Fluttering,
twirling,
in the breeze,
she used,
to be,
a fairy.
Her giggles,
made flowers,
bloom,
like fields.
She had,
tea parties,
with mice,
she used,
to be,
a fairy.

Springtime flowers,
don’t grow,
in this garden.
Not in this mess,
I must confess,
buried it deep,
inside a chest.
It’s gone now,
only haunts me,
when I sleep.
My heart aches,
such a mess,
I must confess,
it’s just,
my chest.

I don’t want,
to be,
your princess.
I want to be,
the girl,
from the,
movies.
The one,
that gets,
chased after,
even when,
it’s her fault.
Even when,
it’s raining,
and life,
doesn’t make,
any sort of,
sense.
I want to be,
that girl.
The one,
that messes up,
sometimes,
but still gets,
three out of five stars,
and you at,
the end.

My closet,
at one point,
was filled,
with,
band tshirts,
skeletons,
and the reason,
to live.
My bedroom floor,
it was littered,
with mismatched socks,
skinny jeans,
converse,
some to my knees,
and combat boots,
even though,
granddaddy was in the navy,
and visited Nagasaki.
Now I’m a hippie,
that subconsciously,
does the hair flip,
and people,
well,
they think,
I have a twitch.
Still own converse,
but I just don’t know,
how to let go,
of my past,
to tell the truth.
At least now,
I’m the reason,
to live.
My closet,
is spacious,
and it doesn’t,
have a door.
But it’s still full,
of band tshirts,
skeletons,
and the reason,
to live?
I’m on the run.

I like,
the way,
your eyes,
sparkle,
and I,
hang off,
the glitter,
in your words,
that you whisper,
in the air.
Is it the,
symmetry,
maybe the,
calamity?
But I could,
slide off,
commas,
dance under,
apostrophes,
and that’s just,
the beginning.
I’m starting,
to wonder,
if the dots,
to the I’s,
are just,
question marks,
to answers,
I may never,
have.
Can you blow,
smoke rings,
like sentences,
and put me,
together,
somehow?

I went to,
a world made,
of water.
To your average,
everyday human being,
it would have been,
a natural disaster.
But you didn’t,
even have to,
swim,
with the water,
in the houses,
you just lived.
And your feet,
they never,
got wet.

Once upon a time,
there was a rose,
that grew,
on the moon.
One morning,
it was dawn break,
and it was in bloom.
The petals had uncurled,
an aromatic scent lingered out,
and for some reason,
one curious little mind,
woke up much too early,
to find this scent,
in their nose.
Only to find the moon,
in the sky,
bright and full,
and a rose scent,
all around.
Cocking their head,
they just knew,
that this didn’t make sense!
It was morning,
not night,
and why,
oh why,
would the moon,
smell of a bouquet,
of roses,
and not a handful,
of stardust?
This mystery,
must be solved,
they pondered,
but how?
A ladder maybe?
One really, really tall?
Made of twigs,
and branches,
tied together,
hastily?
No,
that’s silly,
it’s just the,
moon.
There can’t be,
a rose,
on there,
but they smell it.
Maybe if they wait,
and stay up,
just a little bit,
too late.
Do you think,
the moon,
might be in,
a lake?
Get a boat,
a couple of paddles,
and you’ll get a whiff of it,
I promise.

Some say,
the glass,
is half empty,
Some say,
the glass,
is half full,
I just say,
it’s broken.
Not expecting,
anything at all.
And isn’t that easy?
There’s no line,
on that imaginary glass,
waiting to be filled,
or emptied.
It’s just,
broken.
No expectations,
at all,
not waiting,
for a,
**** thing.
A broken thing,
can’t be filled,
no matter how hard,
you try,
it just makes,
a mess,
all over.
Almost like,
the thoughts,
in your,
mind.
Just make sure,
it’s not,
made of,
glass.

I ordered,
Chinese food,
last night,
cracked a cookie,
the slip of paper,
told me,
I was,
going to,
die,
and that I,
needed to,
live,
my life,
instead,
I swallowed,
the words,
of advice,
we never take,
but probably,
should.

I’m in need,
of a savior.
Just something,
to pull me tight,
and tell me,
no,
don’t go,
I need you.
But life,
isn’t the movies.
You’re the one,
who told me,
that line.
I kinda sorta,
always thought,
life was ironic,
the way it,
worked out.
How I’d say stop,
and the sign,
well it would,
yell at me,
to go.
Swallow the lump,
turn around,
but no,
no,
not this time,
I gotta,
go,
I’m going to,
run.
I’m sorry,
I’m going home,
to the fields of daffodils,
and dandelions,
that we make wishes on.
Even if,
they may,
or may not,
come true.
That’s,
what’s fun.
Life will never,
be the movies,
but it’s certainly,
a song.

I cried,
while eating,
a cheeseburger,
and no,
it didn’t,
make it,
salty.
Right after,
I realized,
they forgot,
pickles,
but I didn’t,
really have time,
to care.
Could have,
ordered,
a milkshake,
but I don’t,
feel like,
mowing,
my yard,
or talking,
to boys.
I cried,
while eating,
a cheeseburger,
but at least,
it had,
bread,
to soak up,
the tears.

I want,
to,
draw a,
picture.
With stick,
figures,
and a dog,
on a hill,
with a ball,
and I promise,
I won’t,
eat the,
crayons.
I just,
wish,
I could be,
a toddler.
I want,
to throw,
a tantrum.
Pull my,
hair,
throw,
the paint,
scream,
until I’m,
shaking,
and you’re,
pacing.
I want,
to be,
a toddler.
Play with,
blocks,
and dollies,
be your little,
princess.
I,
Want,
To,
Be,
A,
Toddler.
Pout,
Stomp my feet,
Until I get,
My way.
Pretty please?
I want to be,
a,
Toddler.
Let me,
Scream,
I want,
Crying.
Let,
Me,
NO!


This isn’t,
me.
I’m not,
a,
toddler.
I want,
to paint,
a picture,
with stick figures,
and a dog,
on a hill.
I promise,
I won’t,
make it,
into soup.

Bathtub in the toaster,
I’m a little,
backwards,
but at least my,
cigarette’s lit.
Got high,
waisted bell bottoms,
denim jeans on,
broken converse,
I can’t afford,
my meds,
but I got,
the next round,
in my own,
head.
Yeah,
sure,
maybe it sounds,
a little bit sad,
but I’m just,
trying to buy,
a drink.

I kinda sorta,
skipped,
right on,
a land mine,
last night,
and now,
my shoe laces,
aren’t tied,
and my heart,
well,
it’s shattered,
to pieces,
this time.

My feelings,
are hurt.
And I don’t,
know,
if that’s,
your fault,
or,
mine.

You carry,
the same carmex,
for years.
There’s a ring,
in your pocket,
that isn’t,
for me.
Is that,
considered sad,
or is it,
just the way,
it is.
Maybe it’s,
just a little,
bittersweet,
in how,
it’s ironic.
I stumble,
I fall,
right into,
your hands.
But that’s,
just the way,
I am.

Won’t you,
tell me?
I just,
would like,
to know,
what is making,
you so sad?
Was it,
your dad,
and the way he,
never seems to,
care?
Was it,
mom again?
And how she,
shakes her head,
in such,
disappointment,
that you can’t,
seem to,
take away?
What’s wrong?
I’m only asking,
to wipe your tears,
and maybe,
hug you tightly,
to make you feel,
less alone,
today.

Do you?
Now that,
is something,
I wonder.
It’s surely so,
that I know,
of it all,
truth be,
not told.
There are moments,
that it keeps,
me up,
unable to,
sleep.
I toss,
I turn,
I twirl,
and this tattered,
torn blanket,
gets more rips,
as I spin,
myself,
to dreams.

Butterflies,
have knives,
and they’re,
cutting up,
my insides.
Just like,
the words,
stuck in,
my throat,
it’s just another,
line I’ve used,
before.
I never promised,
to be perfect,
but my pants,
are singed,
and my shoes,
filled,
to the,
brim.
It’s a bit,
unhinged,
like the corners,
of a page,
in your favorite book,
it’s not broken,
but it can’t,
be fixed.
It’s something,
cheap,
borrowed,
used,
and the wrong shade,
of blue.

I had,
a dream,
last night.
I finally got,
to see,
You.
After all this time,
You asked,
“It’s me,
don’t you,
remember?”.
And no,
I did not,
remember,
You.

I kinda sorta,
ran,
when I wasn’t,
supposed to.
It was raining,
and the sky,
was blue.
But I ran,
until I couldn’t,
and then I skipped,
into the depths,
of redemption.
I twirled,
and danced,
with not a thing,
to hold onto.
After that,
I walked,
and then,
I simply,
fell.

I forgot,
if last night,
was actually tomorrow.
And whether or not,
if I’m dreaming,
or living,
a nightmare,
instead.
This is something,
I’d much rather,
**** it up,
and be a big girl.
But I’m crying,
in the corner,
like a baby,
instead.
I’m supposed,
to choke it down,
without tasting,
the poison.
But I’m,
throwing up,
while I gag,
and wishing,
it was someone else,
instead.
That isn’t fair,
but I guess,
I’ve become,
someone not me.
The cracked reflection,
of the broken mirror,
I stepped on,
while twirling,
instead.

It was,
so much,
easier,
to tell you,
that you simply,
had the wrong number.
Than it would have,
been to say,
that it was,
still me.

I misplaced myself,
just like,
my favorite,
pen.
The mirror,
it’s broken,
a lack,
of reflection.
I’m not,
too sure,
what happened,
but I lost,
phone signal,
and my steps,
I didn’t print,
a mapquest.
My glasses broke,
I thought,
I made it,
home,
I’ll stay in bed,
I promise.
That’s just,
a tree,
instead,
blurred from,
reality.
This isn’t fair,
I didn’t ask,
for this,
she did,
I’m not,
her,
she’s already,
dead.
The mirror,
it’s broken,
I’m here,
instead.
A game,
I forgot,
the rules,
to play.
I don’t think,
this is something,
you could,
possibly,
understand.
From a person,
who isn’t,
a person,
just a bunch,
of swirls,
and squiggles,
that forgot,
how to,
get home.

I can be happy,
a beautiful sight,
in the sky.
In an instant,
I can be dark,
and pour,
like a thunderstorm,
one that makes you,
hide from,
my sight.
Then suddenly,
the skies are clear,
and I’m nowhere,
to be found.
Like a cloud,
I am needed,
but also,
not.
The background,
that sometimes,
blocks the shine,
you look,
for shapes in me,
but you’d much rather,
keep the sun,
in your eyes.
I am,
a cloud,
dull,
yet also,
full of depth,
but I do not,
last long.
Just a temporary,
beautiful sight,
that hides stars,
sunshine,
and the moon,
at night.

I guess this,
isn’t to,
You.
But it,
kinda sorta,
is to,
Me,
instead.
If that even,
makes any sort,
of sense.
I just,
really wanted,
some sort,
of miracle,
to happen,
I don’t really,
know what,
that was,
or even,
wasn’t.
Maybe it’s,
nothing,
all I know,
it’s not,
something.
Farewell,
Me.

It was easier,
so much,
easier,
to not,
see,
your face,
when I hugged,
you tight,
so tight,
to say,
goodbye,
in my,
heart.
And I know,
you don’t,
realize,
that each time,
I expect,
your lips,
to press,
against,
mine.
But I must,
say so long,
in not,
just my,
heart,
but also,
my mind.
And yes,
it’s hard,
because you,
mustn’t truly,
know,
the torment,
I’m putting,
myself through,
because I,
have fallen,
deeply,
behind.
How grateful,
I am,
to the half moon,
tonight,
when I,
said my own,
goodbyes.

“You don’t,
have to,
worry about,
me.”,
she says.
Mouth ******,
after spitting,
out words,
covered in,
razor blades.
Maybe it’s something,
you can understand,
or maybe,
it’s something,
that makes you want to run,
straight to Neverland,
and dim witted,
Peter Pan.
“You should,
probably,
worry about,
me.”,
she should,
have said.
But words covered,
with cotton,
tend to cut,
much deeper,
than the ones,
not.

Is it,
so bad,
that I want,
to run,
head first,
into it all?
Is it,
so bad,
that instead,
of holding,
my breath,
I’d much rather,
drown?
Is it,
so bad?
Tell me,
is it so,
bad?
I just,
want to,
scream,
at the world,
instead of,
into my pillow.
Is that,
so bad?

My heart,
is quite,
uncomfortable,
in the pit,
of my chest.
But it also,
doesn’t quite,
fit,
in the palm,
of your hand.
Maybe if,
you squeeze,
just a bit,
you could,
shrink it.

Hey,
I got,
a complication.
It’s kinda,
sorta,
really dumb.
You’d call it,
stupid,
and possibly,
some sort,
of weird,
hallucination.
There’s this guy,
works down at,
the bus station.
He says,
this is nothing,
but a simulation.
And yeah,
I know,
it’s an eyeroll,
kinda situation,
but try to have,
some imagination,
ask more,
questions.
There’s this,
really cool dude,
he’s a bit crude,
not really that,
rude.
He swears,
no truly,
he dares,
that some of us,
aren’t from,
around here.
Yeah sure,
it’s laughable,
you’d say,
improbable,
but not completely,
impossible.
And if you knew,
what I do,
maybe you’d,
tie your shoes,
stop tripping,
on all these,
clues.
There’s this alien,
oops sorry,
his name is,
Allen.
He said it,
all started,
with his operation.
He says,
it happened,
while he was,
on vacation,
in Aruba.
Do you believe it?
They picked,
him up,
at a petrol,
station.
All he can do,
is sit,
and think,
about you.
Splash in puddles,
and skip pebbles,
all the while,
on the hunt,
for rainbows.
He swears,
honestly,
he dares,
it’s all,
true.

She bleeds,
the universe,
and cries,
shooting stars.
Like a princess,
out of her ballgown,
so out of,
place,
she lets freedom,
embrace.
With glitter,
in her hair,
she sparkles,
even at,
night.
I find myself,
finding pieces,
she left,
behind.
She ran,
so far,
she didn’t,
even think,
twice.
The palace just,
was never her,
place.

I wish,
things were,
different.
I wish,
things were,
fine.
I wish,
I could be,
happy,
smile all the,
time.
I wish,
small things,
didn't have such,
an impact,
in my,
life.
I wish,
you weren't,
the same,
as all the others,
not very,
bright.
I wish,
the sun wasn't,
yellow,
or the moon so,
white.
I wish,
you'd just,
love me,
then everything,
would be,
alright.
I wish,
I wasn't so,
dense,
I could maybe,
see the,
light.
I wish,
I had a heart,
instead of,
doing things,
simply out of,
spite.
And of course,
I wish,
things didn't have,
to end,
that we,
had more,
time.
So all these silly,
wishes,
I make,
on this star,
would maybe,
become the,
truth.

You walk,
through this world,
of black and white.
With your head down,
shoulders slumped,
and smile,
wiped clean,
off your face.
The trees,
no longer,
green.
What,
do you,
think,
if just,
maybe,
you touched,
a leaf?
Would it,
brighten up,
and scream,
at the dullness,
with color?
Along with,
the song,
no one else,
can sing,
you skip,
in splashes,
of puddles.
If you spin,
do you think,
when you made it round,
and round,
would the world,
spin too?

I like,
to spread,
myself,
so thin,
that you can,
almost,
see through,
my skin.
I have become,
crumbles,
at the bottom,
of a,
chip bag.
Basically trash,
not even,
worth,
a taste.
Am I really,
such a,
waste,
of space?
You told me,
I’m just a,
to be,
continued,
sitcom,
never to be,
resumed.
Is it,
really,
true?

𝑰‘𝒎 𝒈𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒅𝒊𝒆.
This isn’t a game,
or just something,
to say.
𝐼 𝑎𝑚,
𝑔𝑜𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑜,
𝐝𝐢𝐞.
It’s not a joke,
this isn’t,
a play,
this is,
reality.
𝐼‘𝑚 𝑑𝑦𝑖𝑛𝑔,
right in front,
of your,
eyes.
This isn’t a,
𝒍𝒊𝒆.
I’m going to,
𝐝𝐢𝐞.

She bleeds,
the universe,
and dances,
on stars.
Has the scent,
of flowers,
and personality,
like that of a,
thunderstorm.
Her voice,
sounds like,
a song,
you’ve never,
heard before.
Wearing nothing,
but the lipstick,
she doesn’t,
own,
and a smile,
with curls.

Sometimes,
all I want,
is to kick,
and scream.
Why the hell,
did you,
do this,
to me?
Other times,
I’d much rather,
pretend it,
was all,
just a,
dream.
Couldn’t I,
have just,
been asleep?
Maybe,
it was,
a sick joke,
played on me,
one not,
so funny.

I see,
you seem,
to like it better,
when I,
tell stories.
So here is,
one for,
you.
Once upon,
a time,
you opened,
your eyes.
Early,
bright,
and full,
of dread.
Pulled yourself,
out of an,
unmade,
bed.
Tripped on,
the mess,
you left.
Stumbled down,
broke your,
neck.
Now you’re,
well,
dead.

Hey,
I know,
it’s been,
quite some,
time.
The thing that,
seems to last,
forever,
but we don’t,
have enough,
of.
Do you,
remember,
when we,
used to dream,
of the future,
that’s become,
the present?
It may not,
be exactly,
what we,
dreamt of,
but the clouds,
still make,
shapes.
Love always,
Me.

I always,
appreciate,
the plants,
that bloom,
when they’re,
not supposed to.
Because against,
all odds,
they grew,
into something,
brand new.

Do you know,
that fairies,
live here?
In the day,
they play,
in the leaves,
of trees.
At night,
while you dream,
they dance,
in moonlight.
They twirl,
on grass blades,
and blow bubbles,
to make morningdew.
Only few,
know that,
the fairies,
are ones,
to play tricks,
and make you sneeze,
more than one.
Do you know?

I can,
call you,
the sun,
in the way,
it sets,
and turns,
the sky,
into night.
Yet you,
are also,
the sun,
in the way,
it rises,
and brings,
the day,
into light.
My cup of,
sunshine,
and sip,
of stars,
how you taste,
that of rain,
and take away,
all my pain.
My starshine,
just a touch,
of nature’s,
melody,
and a whiff,
of morningdew.

I know,
you’re here,
when the scent,
of roses,
in bloom,
waft into,
the room.
Yes,
you’re here,
when the radio,
plays the song,
that answers,
what I need,
so badly,
to know.
You’re here,
when the clock,
chimes,
at the wrong time,
and the sun,
peeks through,
the blinds.
You are here,
when the birds chirp,
and the rain falls,
just like my tears,
when you’re not.
I know,
you’re here,
even if,
I don’t.

I have no friends,
and my family,
they *******,
hate me.
I don’t know why,
I ****,
at least he thinks,
I’m lovely.
The world,
I feel like,
is against me,
it doesn’t even,
know me.
It keeps on,
spinning wildly,
I just,
get dizzy.
It really makes,
me sick,
I just want,
to quit.
I feel like,
I might *****,
as I stay inside,
this closet,
at least she thinks,
I’m lovely.
I don’t know,
who they are,
they really like,
my car.
Even though,
I *******,
wrecked it,
straight into,
their heart.
But hey,
at least they think,
I’m lovely.
My smile,
it’s kinda,
crooked.
A child’s drawing,
my right eye,
rounder than,
the other.
I’m slightly wonky,
my legs aren’t,
straight,
but at least,
I know,
I’m lovely.

I like,
the lipstick,
that stains,
your cigarettes.
And how,
you carry,
the scent,
of lavender,
and incense.
The imprints,
of your teeth,
are left on,
my heart,
after you,
took a bite,
last night.
Did you,
keep it?
Or trash it,
like all,
the rest?

I sit,
in a field,
of daffodils,
while you,
make wishes,
on dandelions.
Like blowing bubbles,
your dreams,
float away,
some like,
seeds,
they land,
growing roots,
to hold onto.

A bright,
ray of,
sunshine.
Here to,
burn your,
face.
I leave,
your skin,
red,
and shoulders,
scabbed.
Even through,
clouds,
I penetrate,
your clothes.
Temperatures high,
celsius soaring,
you peel,
me off,
weeks later.
But I’m,
right around,
the corner.
A delightful,
ray of,
sunshine,
here to,
burn your,
*******,
face.